These Empty Spaces
written by Celtic Pixie

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"Beyond the edge of the world there's a space where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And, hovering about, there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard."
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

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Dawn approached.

There would be a slow rise of activity in the castle by now; kitchen servants prepping for the morning fast, squires rising from their quarters-doing such things as running errands for their masters, keeping the weaponry and armor clean, and caring for the horses in the stables.

Had it been any other day, Podrick would have woken before now. But instead, he continued lying in bed, wholly wide-awake…listening to the draws of evened breaths as Sansa remained sleeping beside him.

A moment later, he was gawking at the ceiling—ruminating quietly to himself; it was better this way. No one could hear his thoughts and worse yet, question potential motives. Podrick would disappear into a world with just his own ingenuity if could. It was this private world of his—accessed only through his mind—where he didn't wake up knowing that Sansa was leaving for Winterfell. This world was only for them, where they could continue being selfish and couldn't care less what others wanted for them.

Sometime after the Battle of Blackwater Bay, after being reminded by Bronn that he still owed Podrick for saving his life, Lord Tyrion had taken him to Littlefinger's brothel and paid for three prostitutes to take his virginity. No payment had been taken; he returned with the bag of coins Tyrion gave him. Apparently, the experience was too good to accept any payment, prompting Tyrion and Bronn to ask for everything in copious detail. Women had been the furthest from his mind at the time—due to his inexperience, lack of interest, awkward introversion; maybe a combination of all three.

Following the funeral held for all who fell during the battle against the White Walkers, Podrick joined in during a celebration feast afterwards, where he caught the eye of two young Winterfell women after engaging in one of Tyrion's drinking game. Later on that night, he had been seen walking arm-in-arm with them.

Although the girls were treated with respect, he didn't love them. He never could have. His heart belonged to another… as it had for many years.

Podrick knew Sansa was virtuous no longer. Women were generally expected to remain virgins until their wedding night; this was more so important for the noblewoman. The loss of a noblewoman's maidenhead prior to marriage could diminish her reputation. Many men might refuse such a woman if the woman was no longer virtuous. Ser Jason Lannister had taken the virginity of Lady Alys Stackspear, gotten a child on her, and married her.

It physically disgusted Podrick to know Sansa had been handled with such brutality. Her virtue was not something that should be purloined but given freely to a lord who would honor her, who would treat her fairly…someone she wouldn't have reason to fear.

It was difficult not to envision what a potential life beyond King's Landing would be like. Even if what he wished for in his heart was possible, would he even be accepted as someone of Sansa's equal? No, likely not. Even still, it was a nice thought and it would probably keep a smile on his face long after she left.

His future. Her future. Their future.

The thought was still fresh in his mind when his eyes shifted away from the ceiling, his head turned, and he was looking upon the sleeping blue-eyed lady next to him. He smiled then, imagining a crown upon her head, he stands beside her… and someday, her womb quickening with his child – their child; conceived because of the love two people bore for each other.

Podrick briefly allowed himself a moment to reach for Sansa. His fingers pushed through her hair, curling a few strands behind her ear.

His mind went adrift, imagining what a child of theirs would look like. A boy, perhaps, with her beautiful blue eyes and red hair, or maybe a girl, yes, a girl, and she'd be like her mother—fierce, powerful, honorable. She would have his brown eyes and her mother's smile. The more he considered the possibilities, the more his heart felt complete.

He brushed a thumb across her jawline, lightly caressing her neck with his hand.

Sansa shifted as her breathing hitched; Podrick recoiled his hand as she stirred, "…Podrick…?" She hadn't opened her eyes to see him, but she was awake; the guilt in his face of waking her, the look of almost sadness in his eyes.

"No, shh… quiet now," he pressed his lips to the bridge of her nose; she had not opened her eyes, "Go back to sleep, my lady." A queen she may be but to him, she would always be his lady. She shifted only once more before her breathing evened out and he knew she was sleeping once again.

Podrick was one again left along with just a reflection… a contemplation of the misery he would soon come to know once she walked out those doors…

The person once known as Tohgo Rivers—a claimed bastard of the Riverlands—now roared with rage and icy blue eyes as a wight, a reanimated corpse raised from death. He advanced on the young squire, baring his teeth, gripping the hilt of his sword. There was no logic left in him—only malice. Podrick backed into a corner with his weapon raised up in front of him. Tohgo snapped, clawed, and growled at him. The terrified squire pressed his sword against the wight's breast. This left the wight momentarily unbalanced, but recovered and shoved Podrick to the stone.

The squire's sword thrusted upward into the wight's chest, piercing through his breast bone. For the second time that night, Tohgo Rivers was dead. Podrick pushed him from the blade to the ground, then stood there to catch his breath. He was caked from head to toe in blood and death. He did not have the luxury of waiting long—a group of wights had managed to break through to the interior of the castle. There was only one thing going through Podrick's mind: the crypts! Sansa!

Tohgo lay dead at his feet. That wight was no longer his issue. Sansa was.

Stepping clear of the body, Podrick rushed headlong into the castle, heedless of his own safety. He was tired, and his body was sore, but he could not let them win.

Once inside, he managed to tiptoe around passageways and intermittently hide himself in shadowy corners in order to evade the wights. However, at some point, he was discovered, and was forced to fight his way through the crowd of dead.

There was screaming. It was coming from the crypts! Podrick's heart stiffened in his chest. The wights had broken through the door.

Before he could rush towards the crypts, he found himself surrounded by even more of the wights. The hold on his sword tightened. He was prepared to meet them head-on. He began fighting wight after wight—lobbing the head off one, slashing the chest of another… but soon enough, the sheer number in the onslaught was overwhelming.

One of the wights jumped forwards and caught him in the neck, another bite to his chest, and a third clawed at him just above his hip bone. Flesh and bone screamed as if on fire. Podrick pushed them off of him, gritting his teeth through the wave of pain. His sword tore through each of them like butter, cutting a bloody swath through the hallway, a renewed determination when heard the same screaming as before. He stumbled only once but he did not allow his pain to slow him down.

Many more wights found their way into the castle interior. The only thing that he worried about now was losing his life before he could reach the crypts. If this is how he was to meet his end, he would go down fighting. He only wished he could have seen her once more.

And then-

The wights started falling, setting off a chain reaction throughout the interior, and again within the courtyard, and all over the castle walls.

Sansa…

Podrick hurried towards the crypts. The door was bolted shut but he kept pushing and pounding and kicking until he was able to get it open. Inside were dozens of bodies—of wights and some unfortunate women—but there was also Tyrion… and Sansa… and he had never been so happy to see someone before!

Trudging himself from bed, a sheet wrapped around his hips, Podrick walked over to a desk, plopped himself down in a chair, reached for a free scroll of parchment, and a quill, then started to put into writing what had taken him three years to say…

But, where to start?

~.~.~.~.~

Everyone else had gone off to the docks for send-offs; Podrick, however, did not. He came up with some reasonable justification for his absence and disappeared off to the stables instead.

There was Gendry, of course—he'd come to know the Baratheon as a genuine, trustworthy friend. Podrick sat proudly when his friend was legitimized by the queen; a bastard no longer.

Bronn was someone Podrick had known for years but never connected with. The occasional moment here and there where they would talk, but nothing else. Though it had been the sellsword who sent him off with Tyrion's axe from Blackwater Bay, and then later on when he displayed a level of brotherly affection towards the former squire. The pair joined each other for a drink during the meeting at the dragon pit between Cersei and Daenerys.

Podrick chose to not be there not because of Bronn or Gendry or other nobles he didn't know by name and just title alone but due another, a certain red-headed Queen; Somehow he thought managing horses was easier than saying goodbye.

Several weeks following the Battle of King's Landing, after which Cersei and her armies were defeated, Podrick traveled with Brienne and other nobles there though remained waiting outside the gates due to his squire status and thus was not present when Jon's legitimacy as a Targaryen was revealed to all and it was decided, by Daenerys herself, that she would break the wheel and rule as a dyad, a pair.

Only a short time afterward had been approached by Brienne about joining the Kingsguard; she had already spoken with their graces about it and they had agreed. He accepted, sure, but in doing so… knew what it was he was giving up. He would have returned to Winterfell with Sansa—she'd need only ask of him—but, Brienne needed him more.

It was heartbreaking… but necessary.

Whenever Podrick couldn't sleep – which was often most times these days – then he would seek some relaxation elsewhere, at least for a moment so he could distract himself from whatever it was that was keeping him from a restful night's sleep.

As a squire for Lord Tyrion, Podrick had been granted certain privileges—access to a library of books, food at his table, a glass of wine here and there…especially when the Lannister refused to drink alone.

He still pandered to the sporadic book here and there, sometimes two or three, but where he really found his solace was on the back of a horse in an opened field. This wasn't a life-time passion of his, not even close—Podrick didn't even know how to ride properly until shown by Brienne, and grateful he was having her teach him, too—but these days, especially now, he found engage more and more.

Everyone had been sleeping when he slipped out of the castle. He was quick about slipping off to the stables, saddling a horse, and trotting out before anyone could wake and discover he'd gone.

He thought he was alone. He was wrong. Podrick was surprised when he stumbled across her though he was sure it was the snow crunching beneath the horse's hooves that gave him away. She was startled by the sound, and equally surprised to see him out. Further investigation revealed a similar if not same reasoning as to why she was out here, alone, without any evidence she was being well looked after. Podrick felt it was his duty to make sure there were no strange folk about.

They prattled on for hours until at long last, they grew weary and turned their horses around, bound back for Winterfell.

Podrick jumped down from his stead first before he assisted Sansa to her feet. He was able to get a good glimpse at her once standing in front of the other. She really did have the most astonishing blue eyes. He very much would have liked to kiss her then but be it nerves, guilt, or something else, he stayed off. They parted from each other in the wee hours of that morning, bidding each other a good night.

The whole time he was watching her leave, he kept thinking how much he would have liked to kiss her.

Using a hoof pick, Podrick started at the heel of the foot then worked his way towards the toe, carefully removing rocks, dirt, and debris that had collected there. Once all four hooves were cleared, he tossed the hoof pick aside and crabbed a curry comb. He was vigorous in his movements, brushing small circular motions over the horse's muscles, being mindful of bony areas such as the face, spine, and legs. He worked his way from the neck of the gelding to the barrel and all the way to the rump.

Once finished, Podrick grabbed himself another brush, a harder one, which was a hard-bristled brush used to remove dirt or hair brought out by the curry comb. He brushed in short, straight, flicking motions, allowing each of the bristles to get all the way through the coat.

Podrick cleaned up with a soft brush, getting around the face—the eyes, the ears, and the muzzle—removing any remaining surface dust and hair.

Using a wide-bristled mane comb, he brushed out any and all tangles caught up in the mane and the tail.

Once he finished cleaning up the mare, Podrick snatched up an apple from a nearby container then carefully eyed the saddles. He hadn't been planning to ride but now seemed as a good of a time as any. Maybe it was just what he needed to get his mind off of things.

He seemed to have already made up his mind. Podrick snatched a saddle then returned to the mare, a beautiful creature of painted colors—yellow, beige, and white. Once the mare had been saddled up, Podrick jumped on and led her out; away they flew from the stables, leaving behind his bottled up agony he was nowhere near prepared to face head-on.