Note- This was originally posted on AO3 for a secret santa exchange. I decided I'd bring it to so please enjoy :)

Dance With Me
written by Celtic Pixie

..

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet."
– Plato

..

The Godswood is a small wooded area, enclosed within castle walls, a place of worship and meditation by those who carry on the traditions of the First Men. At the center is a heart tree, usually a weirwood tree. Every castle in the north has a weirwood tree. South of the Neck, most of these trees were cut down or burnt several years ago; the Isle of Faces possesses a significant number, and many southern castles still have these Weirwood trees; the Red Keep is a rather recent castle and thus has no Weirwood tree; instead, the heart tree is a great oak covered in smokeberry wines that overlooks the Blackwater Rush.

It is here where Ser Jaime Lannister, Hand of the King, and Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lady Commander of the Kingsguard, came to exchange their vows. Septon Joseth was leading the ceremony. After Jaime was asked to cloak his bride and bring her under the protection of his house, the sermon began: We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Jaime and Brienne held hands, standing side by side.

The Septon continued; Let it be known that Ser Jaime of House Lannister and Ser Brienne of House Tarth are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.He thentied their joined hands with a ribbon that symbolized their union. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.

Standing just off center was Ser Podrick. He followed his Lady Commander loyally for many years even in times she grew impatient with him – which was very often, originally – and sometimes he was more of hinderance than a help—like the time he couldn't ride his horse properly or the time he accidentally set fire to a rabbit they were cooking…she tried getting rid of him on more than one occasion - but he always took his duties to her very seriously. His loyalty and devotion to her had paid off and he was rewarded with a knighthood. Soon after, he was raised to the Kingsguard. Though honored and proud to be a part of such an elite group of knights who serve as the royal bodyguard of the King of the Andals and the First Men, and thinking he finally found himself a home with belonging—he just felt like there was something… missing.

Look upon one another and say the words…

The bride and groom turned, standing facing each other, and recited their vows. First, they say the names of the Seven, speaking simultaneously: Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…

Podrick's eyes wandered. He didn't mean for them to. But at the very moment when Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne exchanged their vows, he was looking anywhere but at them; those brown eyes of his wandered from the bride and groom, to the other Lords and Ladies, and finally to just one person: Her Grace, the Lady Sansa Stark, Queen in the North.

After this, it was time to recite their vows. While the groom is saying his words—I am hers and she is mind. From this day, until the end of my days—the bride is saying I am his and he is mind. From this day, until the end of my days.

After the exchange of vows, Jaime turned away from the Septon, with Brienne's hand still clasped and tied to his own, and they faced the crowd. And then he announced, with this kiss, I pledge my love and in front of all those in attendance, Jaime and Brienne shared a kiss as man and wife. The roar of ovation snapped Podrick from his day-dream.

With his attention turned, he didn't see, he couldn't see, the red-haired Northern queen stealing a brief glance his way and that distant look swimming in her eyes…

Sometime after the actual ceremony, everyone whisked themselves inside for the festivities. Seating arrangements remained practical; the King and Queen at the head of the Great Hall, besieged by Jaime and Brienne—to their right were Tyrion and Davos, and to their left were Bronn and Varys. There was Lord Gendry Baratheon, of course, seated close enough to the front, and members from House Arryn, House Tully, House Martell, House Lannister, and even House Greyjoy; Yara wasn't for the fanciness of the wedding itself but she was more than happy to indulge in a good ale after the fact.

And then there was Sansa Stark. It was her innocence, her childhood infatuation that made her susceptible to manipulations. The travails she endured in the years to come had made her stronger and more mature; caring much less for the traditional views she once loved.

Standing far enough away from the crowd, Podrick casually observed as everyone partook in the celebration and festivities. He was cheerful, kind and a well-meaning young man, who was always so eager to please others, but he was also shy and awkward. While everyone else was mingling, he had withdrawn. Maybe it was better this way though. He was Kingsguard; someone had to keep watch. Sure, there were others, and they could do the job just as well, so he could join everyone, but he felt obligated.

His absence had not gone overlooked. While visually perusing the room, Gendry took notice of the young man standing so far from everyone. Grabbing a second mug of ale, he got up from the table and decided he was going to join the timid knight.

Podrick saw him coming, thought maybe he could avoid the Baratheon, but no. Next thing he knew, there was a mug of ale thrusted into his hand. "I admit I haven't attended many marriages before…actually, this is my second one…," he said, "but is it normal for the bride's Man of Honor to be so recluse?" He took a swig of his own ale, still maintaining his eye contact with Podrick, who was looking from him to his own mug, casually running his fingers along the rim.

"Someone needs to stand guard," he answered, though he knew it wasn't the truthful answer; maybe he wasn't ready to admit the truthful answer, "As Kingsguard, it is my duty to…" He glanced up from his ale for a brief moment but that might have just been enough for him. Podrick sighed, looking over to where she sat. "i-in case something goes… wrong.."

Gendry mocked offense; "There's the City Watch for that." He clapped the younger man on the shoulder, causing Podrick to briefly lose balance and a slosh of ale over the mug's rim. "Drink up, Ser Knight! This is a celebration and you should be celebrating!" His mug clinked with Podrick's before he himself took a swig.

"One of us should remain sober at least. Besides—" he looked down quietly, "—I don't think I ever cared for the taste of ale." He didn't see the look of mock-disappointment on Gendry's face.

"…you seem to have you fill of it at Winterfell."

"That was wine."

Gendry briefly pursed his lips, then continued, "Well, we all need to start somewhere…so…go on then…" He stood silent whilst observing the younger lad, who still eyed the mug of ale suspiciously, before a sigh passed his lips and he braved a drink. As the sweet, full-bodied beverage entered Podrick's throat, the knight sputtered and coughed hard. Gendry smirked, once again clapping the knight on his back. "Easy now. That's it."

Cough. "I think…" Cough. "…I've had…" Cough. "…enough…" Cough. He attempted to push the mug back at Gendry, but Gendry wasn't having it, and even shook his head, shoving his hand against the mug to resist, almost earning a scowl. "Seven Hells. I can't."

"By the GODS you are boring!" Gendry rolled his eyes; Podrick didn't seem offended by the remark. The ale in Podrick's hands remained untouched, but Gendry gladly helped himself to another swig of his own. Momentarily, his gaze wandered and in doing so… he noted exactly what was getting Podrick so distracted. Smirking, he looked back at the knight, whose eyes weren't ahead of him anymore but staring downward. "…I get it now…"

As if caught doing something he shouldn't, Podrick's head snapped up; "G-Get what now…?" All of a sudden, he felt as though the room around him was spinning. That couldn't be possible; he didn't have that much of his drink.

"What's got you so…distracted. How long has it been?" Gendry stared, practically revealing in the look he was given upon mention of the Northern Queen by name, as if saying so was either a shock he was so informal, or he caught the knight red-handed.

Podrick coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment that he'd been caught with a lingering gaze. "Oh! She's…Sansa—she's just…" his voice broke as he struggled because even as he thought of her, he was thinking of when they first met as teens and she wanted nothing to do with him. Friend, he wanted to say she is my friend.

"You fancy her," Gendry told him, matter-of-factly, very blunt and direct.

His cheeks reddened. "W-what? N-no! I do not…fancy her…!" He was doing it again. Stumbling over words when he was flustered. It happened every time he ever got nervous about something or someone. Gendry was laughing, which irritated him slightly. "What? I don't fancy her." And Gendry gave him one of those uh-huhs that made it obvious he wasn't buying it; the all-knowing stare he gave the knight over the rim of his ale mug was telling enough.

"Oh yes you do," Gendry countered. He knew that familiar look in Podrick's eyes; he once had that same look about Arya. Before Podrick could protest differently, again, Gendry spoke up. "Listen, I get it. I felt the same way about Arya. Her sister is a beautiful woman.."

Podrick caved; "She is but…it's not about her looks. It's never been about that…"

And Gendry listened as Podrick regaled him in how he and Sansa met as teenagers, how he had been fascinated with her since then, how he'd never admit that Sansa's marriage to Tyrion was a little heartbreaking—he couldn't say anything, of course; he was Tyrion's squire.

He never once believed Sansa could ever be interested in someone like him. Despite being from a noble house himself, his family was only a cadet branch, and was a vassal house that held felty to House Lannister.

I'm not worthy of her, he'd think often.

As if Gendry was sensing what Podrick was internalizing, he was rubbing a hand between the knight's shoulder blades and saying, "You should go over there," and Podrick was giving him that sideways glance, the one that said, are you kidding, but Gendry just waved it off. "Go! Ask her to dance."

"I don't even know if I can d-d-dan.."

"Dance?"

"—with her I mean."

Gendry smirked. "You won't know if you don't even go over there." When Podrick said nothing, just sipped at his ale, he was given a gentle push. "Go get her."

And so he did.

~.~.~.~.~

Sansa remembered standing on Winterfell's ramparts as Stark and Targaryen forces converged upon the castle, and how she cautiously stared as the dragons – Drogon and Rhaegal – flew overhead. She greet Jon just fine but Daenerys she regarded with a more colder, straight-faced demeanor; the two women exchanged courtesies, albeit a tense greeting. As she lamented over the message sent by Robett Glover, stating he would be remaining in Deepwood Mott with his troops, she expressed her disapproval of Jon bending the knee to the Targaryen queen; though she had unwavering faith in him, Sansa wondered if he bent the knee in order to save the North, or out of love for this woman.

She remembered Daenerys coming to her, asking for a moment of privacy, addressing political issues involved in their alliance, and of the reasoning behind Sansa's initial distrust of the dragon queen. She was worried that Daenerys was simply manipulating Jon, while the dragon queen assured her of her love and lack of ulterior motives. A somewhat better understanding seemed to develop though when pressed about the North's independence, Daenerys remained rather mute on the subject.

They hadn't seen each other during the battle – Daenerys atop Drogon, before a sword had been forced into her hand, and Sansa in the crypts, telling herself she was hiding with the rest of those who couldn't protect themselves, and feeling ashamed at doing so. She hadn't told anyone, least of all Jon – and the details remained hazy, if she was honest – but there she was, crouched behind a tomb, with Tyrion beside her, and then… there was a dagger clutched tightly in her hand. It hadn't been the one Arya had given her… but a blade made of dragon glass—given to her by another…

The survivors had gathered to pay their respects to the dead; Daenerys said a tearful farewell to Jorah as Sansa placed a pin bearing the House Stark direwolf onto Theon's body before lighting the pyre herself. The two women sought comfort in themselves. As she watched the pyre burn, Sansa hadn't even noticed the dragon queen stepping up beside her until the latter's hand had taken her own. They stood together, as one, supporting one another. Whatever distrust they had for each other had gone that day. And in subsequent days to come.

They were standing side by side again, a drink in each of their hands, and this is where they were found when Podrick walked up upon them. He said nothing at first; though Sansa intimidating him, he was scared of the dragon queen. He felt rather ill. His stomach twisted. Had it been the ale turning? Maybe, it was the nerves doing it. His entire body felt warm and feverish. His heartbeat was strong, drumming on and on and just maybe they could hear its precipitous beating. Podrick worried it would crawl from his chest. Just plop out in front of them, mercilessly thrashing on the floor, and he'd be dead.

He must have looked ridiculous just standing there. They had noticed him—Daenerys raised a brow, Sansa acknowledging him before asking how he was finding the party—but Podrick hadn't said much of anything to either of them. It was only a second or two more before he remembered his courtesies. The dragon queen excused herself rather quickly, leaving Sansa and Podrick alone with each other. It was a tense and awkward filled silence; neither knew what to say, and Podrick's face was still flush with embarrassment.

Finally—finally—he attempted a simple; "Hel—good evening—I mean, h-hi… your g-grace…" He could barely formulate the words. He stammered over every last one.

"Good evening, Ser Podrick," she said. She saw the flush in his cheeks deepen; this prompted a smile; one she hadn't even been aware of until it registered to her that the corners of her mouth had even turned. "Are you not enjoying yourself?"

Podrick looked as though he had been whipped. "Oh, of course I am! I mean, enough as I can be I guess.. enough as I should… " He scratched at the nape of his neck, and briefly glanced over his shoulder to see if Gendry had been watching—he was—before looking back at Sansa. "I came to ask… well, what I mean to say is that, well, I guess what I trying to ask is, erm… dance! With me! Would you?" He didn't look back to see if Gendry was still watching though Podrick was sure of it. Being this inarticulate was embarrassing.

Sansa's past had given her more than enough reason to be cautious of men. Her harrowing experiences, all the suffering she had been through, the numerous tragedies—the crimes against herself and her family, causing her personality to turn more ruthless, however; still being able to retain some degree of compassion. She once naively believed in tales of epic romances, the ones where the princess would get her honorable knight in shining armor. Stories involving mythical figures like Jonquil and historical ones like Duncan Targaryen infatuated her, and now she had Podrick Payne standing in front of her asking to dance.

Sansa has always been initially wary of him because of his familiar relation to Ser Ilyn Payne, the King's Justice, but she had soon come to realize that Podrick had been just as frightened of her as she had been of his cousin. There were moments she would talk to him, but he would always fluster, turning the most alarming shade of red.

She truly believed it was Jon who restored her faith in men. So as Podrick fumbled over himself as he was asking her for a dance, Sansa had smiled—a true, genuine smile; "I would be honored, Ser Knight."

Podrick blinked; taken aback, he stammered out, "You, you would?" He inhaled and exhaled, slowly; his racing heart had regulated, less of this mind-numbing drumming on it had been doing.

She grabbed his mug of ale and placed it down on the table then, seizing his hand, whisked him onto the dance floor, joining others who gathered to partake in a courtly dance. Podrick sputtered, knowing he really didn't know what he was doing but only knowing how he'd seen others dance and wanted to try it. Sansa was far more accustomed to court dances. She instructed him to stand in front of her, so he was in line with the few other men while she stood opposite him, joining the ladies standing opposite their partners. Once the band started up, Sansa was mouthing for Podrick to bow as she curtsied. They offered the hands to each other then took a step in. They stood close, close enough for him to get a good look at her eyes, how blue they were. He smiled and she reciprocated.

They took a step back from each other and he casually spun her under his left arm. As they faced each other again, another curtsey and a bow took place. With their hands still locked, Podrick and Sansa once again took a step in towards each other. This time, instead of returning to their previous positions, they circled around one another, raising their arms only slightly, until their hands leveled with their eyes; not once had they ever lost eye contact with each other.

At this point, they had turned, only slightly, facing four others—Samwell Tarly to Podrick's left, Bronn of the Blackwater to his right; standing next to Sansa, on each side of her, was Samwell's wife Gilly and whichever young beauty Bronn had sweetened this time. Samwell and Gilly joined hands, danced around each other, and stopped on opposite sides from where they started. Bronn and his lady did the same. The circle of six extended their arms towards the center then walked clockwise for a count of six. They stopped, bowed and curtsied, and repeated the same as before, this time walking counter clockwise for the same count of six. When they stopped, as before, they bowed and curtsied.

Samwell and Gilly joined hands, danced around each other, and switched places again. Once again, Bronn and his raven-haired beauty had done the same. They each turned to their respective partners and bowed or curtsied then turned, faced towards the wall, took up each other's hands, and walked a few steps forwards, stopping on a count of four only to bow once more.

The couples faced one another other again, stepped into each other's space. Podrick and Sansa were within inches, close enough to where her neck tickled with goosebumps whenever he exhaled. It was this moment that got her a good look into his eyes; those soft, chestnut hues… so warm and comforting. Hers dazed in all their Tully blue brilliance. Sansa wasn't even aware she had been staring for so long until they stepped away from each, took their bows and curtsies, and suddenly everyone was erupting in applause.

With a diminutive smile, Sansa thanked him for the dance then walked off to rejoin her table. Samwell and Gilly walked as well, but Bronn remained, shooting him a sideways grin.

Podrick caught the stare, shrugging his shoulders upwards, with a "What?" as he had no idea what that look from Bronn meant.

"The northern Queen, she's an attractive one." And there was sounded like a muttered agreement from Podrick, then Bronn added, "You want to fook her," he bluntly stated, catching the much younger man off his guard, and Bronn chuckled at the shade of red turned in Podrick's cheeks.

His shock turned to a scowl; "What? No!" Podrick shrugged off Bronn's hand the minute it touched his shoulders so the elder clapped him on the back, forcing the younger off his step.

Bronn laughed. "Oh yes you do. I've seen the way you look at her…" He knew there was no denying that; he'd seen the passing looks here and there.

"No. I-It's definitely not like that. I—" He was feeling quite flushed again, and it was at this point that Bronn knew.

"Oh no! I see what's going on."

"What?"

"You're in LOVE!"

Podrick's face colored. "Definitely not!" Despite what he was saying, however, the tone in his voice and color in his face said otherwise. "I d-don't know…where you got that i-idea from…" Again, Bronn clapped him on the back but at least this time, Podrick didn't lose his balance.

"Trust me, lad, I know that look." His head arched slightly left, and Podrick's eyes followed; "You think I didn't recognize that same fookin' look in their stupid eyes? I knew he'd be fookin' her and she'd be fookin' him and look at that…I'm right again!" When he looked back and saw Podrick rolling his eyes, Bronn just laughed. "You and I both know it's going to happen."

"No it isn't."

"Right. Okay." He started walking off, then added, "Just make sure to send an invite for the weddin'." Bronn rejoined some of the others; laughing, drinking, putting aside such things as young love.

Talk with Bronn hadn't just left him flustered but also affronted as well; what he felt for Sansa, whatever this was, had been something he kept to himself for many years. He was just a young lad, a boy of six and ten, when he came to King's Landing as Lord Tyrion's squire. He was timid, withdrawn.. but he remembered a young red-headed beauty whose name was Stark. There were many times he wished he could have said something to her, been brave enough to do so, but it was always his nerves that got in his way.

The way Joffrey callously treated her made his blood boil, but he was too frightened to do anything. They'd have him whipped or worse. At least Tyrion was kinder, and he trusted his Lord, so he knew Sansa was in better hands. But following Joffrey's murder at his own wedding feast, she was gone. Many assumed the worst; Cersei Lannister sure did.

It would be some time before he would see her again, and he felt the same as he did when he first saw her. He knew then what he still knew to this day: he wanted to protect her. Podrick wanted to be the knight who rescued the princess. He knew there was no denying Bronn's words: he was in love with Sansa Stark.

Frustrated and angry with himself, Podrick snatched up the discarded mug of ale, gulped the rest of it down in one go, wiped off his mouth on the back of his sleeve, then walked off.

He would go on denying his heart for a while longer.

~.~.~.~.~

The jovial noise echoed down the hall as he walked, dying off in a slow and painful manner until he slipped around a corner and barely heard anything at all. He swaggered a bit from the ale, the sweet drink it was, but kept on moving forwards, ignoring his low-level of intoxication. He wasn't used to it and perhaps he had too much of it. Sleeping it off would be the best course of action now. Let the others continue their merriment; Podrick was done. He wasn't much for this sort of thing anyway. Not willingly. But the drink helped him endure it; he must remember to thank Gendry for that.

He stopped once he rounded another corner and gave himself some time to recoup. The corridors were just a wee bit dark; only the flicker of candlelight made it possible to see where anyone was walking. While the hallways and passage ways of the Red Keep weren't a maze of narrow streets and alleyways as Flea Bottom was, it would still be difficult enough to get around if someone didn't already knew where they were going.

The Red Keep was fashioned of pale red stone – therefore the name – and looked out over the mouth of Blackwater Rush. Much of the castle was connected underground. The curtain walls surrounding the castle were massive and stone parapets, some four feet high – at least, stood to protect the outer edges of the ramparts. The walls of the castle had great bronze gates with narrow postern doors nearby. Behind these walls were the small inner yard, covered bridges, barracks for the City Watch, dungeons, granaries, kennels for the dogs, and stables for the horses. Maegor's Holdfast, the small council chambers, the Tower of the Hand, the lower bailey, a small sucken courtyard, and the black cells were all located beneath the circuitous steps leading to the castle while the Great Hall, the outer yard, the Godswood, the river walk, the small kitchen, the pig yard, the royal sept, and the Maidenvault were all located above the steps.

When Podrick first arrived at King's Landing, he had a great deal of effort finding his way around. More than often, it would have been Tyrion shepherding him around. Or one of castle maids. At least once, it was Cersei who found him wandering around. Podrick had to then explain to Tyrion why he had been crying. Of course, the Red Keep had nothing on Winterfell's massive size, whose walls were composed of dozens of courtyards and small open spaces and the corridors themselves felt more like a never ending maze. It took him ages to find his way around that castle.

He pushed off from the walls he steadied himself against and proceeded towards the White Sword Tower, one of towers within the Red Keep that contained the chambers of all seven Kingsguard members. It was a slender, four-storied structure built into an angle of the castle; the tower oversaw Blackwater Bay. The first floor was the common room. White wool hangings decorated the stone walls. The room contained a large weirwood table carved in the shape of a shield. This room is where the White Book – a book that records all the deeds of every member who has ever served for the last three hundred years; Podrick secretly hoped to be reading his own entry one day, perhaps being the one who writes it – resides. The second and third floors held the sparse sleeping quarters for six of the members whereas the topmost floor contained the apartments of the Lady Commander.

Podrick stifled a yawn, putting a closed fist to his mouth, then continued. As he ambled down yet another corridor, this one decorated by candles and tapestries, he was not paying to where he stepped next and assumed the mass he stumbled into had been a wall. It wasn't until his clouded eyes cleared that he saw what – or rather who – he literally walked into: Sansa Stark. Podrick immediately started fidgeting with his own fingernails, avoiding eye contact, and trying to keep his own heart from jumping into his throat.

Sansa looked just as startled; she wasn't expecting to be running into anyone. "Oh gods! I apologize," she sputtered, feeling her cheeks burning red, "Are you alright?" I obviously wasn't looking where I was going. I'm such an idiot, she thought, but smartly hadn't said out loud.

"Oh! Y-Yes…" He finally picked his head up, but his face was still very flushed in the cheeks when he was looking at her; every time he did, his face would always feel hot and uncomfortable. "Oh! N-No… your Grace… it was I who should have been paying attention. I could have hurt you! I'm so sorry!" His words were coming out faster than he meant them to.

"You couldn't have hurt me, Ser knight," she corrected; you could never have hurt me nor would you have, her inner thoughts were telling her, you are definitely not like all the others.

The coloring in Podrick's face brightened. There would never be a moment where he'd ever think about hurting Sansa. She had struggled far too much in her life already. She deserved so much. No, never, he was telling himself.

Podrick was looking at her just then, entranced by her, before she had called to him and shaking the webs from his head, he realized just how long he had let the silence go on. "My apologies," he muttered, then scratching at the back of his neck, he added, "It must be the ale. I should go back to my quarters. Enjoy your evening."

Gracing her with a courteous bow, Podrick turned and meandered off.

But then, "Wait, ser kn—I mean, Podrick…"

She said my name! He stopped, turned, and looked at her; "Did I say something to offend…?"

"No," she answered, and it was obvious—at least to her—that she was suddenly quite nervous, and she couldn't figure out the reason. Sansa stepped forwards and suddenly her heart was jumping. "I… I wasn't planning to go back. I've had enough for one night I think. I will probably retire for the evening." I came looking for you but now that I'm here, I don't know what to say and I feel quite foolish and, oh my gods, I am overthinking this way too much! Her head and her heart were both screaming at her; she blamed the ale.

"Where are your quarters?" They were right outside White Sword Tower; Podrick knew where the extra bedrooms were, normally kept for guests, and they were nowhere near the rooms for the Kingsguard. Either Sansa had gotten herself lost or—

She pointed a thumb over her right shoulder, "Maidenvault," she answered. It was far enough away from the White Sword Tower that Sansa knew very well she had taken a wrong turn.

The long, slate-roofed Keep behind the royal sept was only called Maidenvault because King Baelor I Targaryen had once confined his sisters there to avoid them tempting him with carnet thoughts. Mace Tyrell and entourage were once housed there during the Battle of the Blackwater, and the late Queen Margaery remained in quarters there even after her marriage to Tommen.

"You're far enough from there…"

Sansa nodded; "I must have gotten myself turned around. You see, it's been a while since I've visited these halls and perhaps I don't remember them as well as I thought I did," I could never forget these walls even if I had tried to. The real reason I went the wrong way was—"I'd be grateful if you would escort me. You probably know your way around more than I can remember right now." She didn't think she drank that much but maybe she did, and she didn't realize it.

Podrick swore the palpitations made it feel like his heart was beating too hard, or too fast, skipping a beat now and then, or fluttering. He noticed them in his chest, his throat, and his neck. Normally, they could be bothersome or frightening; he hadn't felt like that since facing down death at Winterfell some years ago. He's felt them before, usually brought on by stress or anxiety.

Now Sansa Stark was asking him to be her personal escort.

Swallowing hard, he nodded; "Al-Alright…" I'd hate for you to be wandering these halls alone… at night… so I will gladly escort you, the woman I've been in love with since I was six and ten…

He pushed aside his thoughts, gathered up his wits, and offered an arm; a knight must always be brave in front of a lady. Once Sansa took the offered appendage, Podrick gave her a warm smile. The awkward pair meandered off away from the White Sword Tower and remained silent for most of the trek back to Maidenvault. There was probably a lot of things they could have said to each other, many things they could have caught up on they missed out on, maybe from those sparse moments as teenagers. Podrick attempted to, even opened his mouth to form the words—but no sound ever came out, and he promptly shut his mouth.

He wasn't the only one feeling voiceless; Sansa couldn't say anything either. There was a lot she could say, many things she could have thanked him for, but she didn't even know where to start. Sansa felt the tears prickling her eyes. She forced them back before Podrick could see. The less she would have to explain, the better of they both were.

Once they reached Maidenvault, she was starting to feel a little like herself though her chest was tight and the warmth radiating from Podrick's body was keeping a smile on her face though neither of them had looked at the other; if only they could have been reading the thoughts of the other person. It felt more like a reprieve once they reached her quarters, stopping right outside her door. Sansa turned, finally facing him, and the flush in his cheeks had not diminished.

Slowly, Sansa unhooked her arm from Podrick's; "Thank you for the escort…" She reached for the door but at the last second, hesitated, as if she was missing something or was thinking of something… else.

"You are most welcome," he said. There was a momentary pause—his heart was fluttering again; his nerves were trying to get the better of him—before he added; "Sleep well, Your Grace." He left it at that. Turning from her so she wouldn't see that look in his eyes, Podrick started walking off. It was Sansa's voice calling to her that had him stopping and looking back.

"Please," she started, "Call me Sansa."

Podrick nodded. "Of course. As you wish-" there was that meager pause in which he could probably hear the blood pounding in his ears.

She disappeared into her quarters, shutting the door behind her.

"-Sansa."